"Yes, I suppose I understand that," Carala said resignedly. "But trust him or not, you spared him. You didn't have to. I know that. And I -- " Quickly she looked away, hesitant to say what she really felt when Denisius and Casimir were so close, not to mention these soldiers whom she did not know at all. With a wan smile she looked back at Ammas. "I am grateful for it." That sounded impossibly weak in her ears. "More than you know," she added, which did not sound much better.

But Ammas seemed to understand. A rueful smile was on his lips and briefly he brushed his fingers along the back of her hand. "Let's hope he is too, your highness." His voice fell to a soft register, something only her wolfish ears might catch. "If Barthim is right, maybe he can atone for certain things. Helping me cure you would go a long way toward it."

Carala smiled softly. Across the warehouse Denisius and Casimir were busy at Whistling Jack, Vos's tattered old deck whispering against the table. The bound soldiers watched with even more puzzlement, if that were possible, perhaps amazed by the sight of a small boy with a skymetal dagger belted to his hip. "I wish -- Ammas, sometimes I wish we had met under different circumstances."

That was such a vast understatement of what Ammas felt himself that he had nothing to say, and was grateful to see the warehouse doors creak open, Silenio stepping in (still looking decidedly worse for the wear), followed by Vos and Barthim. They came to Ammas in a cluster, Denisius and Casimir rising up to join them.

"The good prince is not finding his men, I am afraid." Barthim's voice was grave, his eyes deeply troubled.

Ammas looked at Silenio, not without sympathy. Whatever his other failings the prince was not known to mistreat the soldiers under his command. Over the years Ammas had heard rumors rather different from the cowardice Silenio had displayed at Losris Nadak, and he wondered now if he had found some measure of honor in military life since then. "I am sorry, your highness. I thought only to affright them. If they've been taken by the Swiftfoot wolves, such was not my intent."

Silenio scowled. "Just another thing to make them pay for when I find them."

Ammas raised an eyebrow. "When we find them."

"I'll partner with you only until my sister is well again. That's the only value your life has to me. Don't mistake it for friendship, Mourthia." Silenio's words were a trifle more comprehensible than they had been that morning, but they retained a slurring quality Ammas thought likely to remain for some time. Already his face was beginning to turn a gruesome range of colors as his bruises set, one side of his jaw visibly larger than the other. One of his eyes glared disdainfully at Ammas; the other was not much more than a puffy slit.

Ammas stood up with a crooked smile. "That is not a mistake I will make anytime soon, trust me." He looked at Vos. "Did you note any Swiftfoot? Anyone watching you?"

Vos shook his head. "This whole city is watching us, Ammas, although they put on a good show of ignoring us. His highness is a fat purse waiting to be plucked. I imagine they took Barthim and me for kidnappers."

"Vos Princestealer," Barthim chuckled. Vos sighed.

Ammas shook his head. "The Swiftfoot didn't, if they saw you. They'll be wary, probably furious. They know you both for wolf-killers. All of us, now, even Carala."

"Carala?" Silenio said, astounded. "What is this?"

"It has been a hard journey, Silenio," she replied quietly. "Before you threaten Ammas again, you should remember he is the reason I've survived it."

Silenio Deyn was wholly unaccustomed to being rebuked by his youngest sibling, and so he received this with bemused silence.

Casimir broke it. "I haven't killed any wolves, Ammas."

"The day is young," Denisius muttered. Barthim laughed delightedly.

But Ammas didn't laugh. The strange humor that had gripped him a few minutes before had passed, and the gravity of what he had found among the Swiftfoot tokens had begun to settle over him like a pall. "That's truer than you might think, Lord Marhollow. Your highness," he said, turning to Silenio and speaking as politely as he could manage. "I must ask if you have told me all you know about Swiftfoot."

"I have," Silenio answered mulishly. "What point is there in keeping anything from you? I have even less use for them than I do -- " He glanced at Carala and reconsidered. "They're the ones who hurt Cara. I'll skin the fuckers living, no matter what my father might have paid them in the past."

Ammas held up the little brass key. "Do you know what this is?"

Silenio shook his head. Ammas saw similar puzzlement on every face around him. Frowning he tilted the key toward the light, so its faded emblem was a trifle more legible: a sheaf of wheat crossed with a gavel, a symbol not only of the law but a more ancient sign from the days when Gallowsport had been a vast independent farmhold rather than a place of execution and judgment.

"This is the symbol of the Grand Curia. My father wore a key like this around his neck since before I was born. This key will open any door in that building, including the ones that protect its archives." His eyes glittered as he looked back into Silenio's face. "I ask you again, your highness: have you told me all? Do you know why Swiftfoot would have this?"

Again Silenio shook his head, his expression both perplexed and angry. "I don't. They had no official sanction, operated away from any Imperial record. That's why they were allowed private contracts from time to time."

"A token of a kill? A judge or advocate?" Vos mused.

"They didn't seem in the habit of taking trophies," Ammas said. "I suppose we could go through the ledgers again and see if we recognize such a victim."

"If they did kill a judge or someone else connected to the Curia," Denisius ventured, "then it might not be a trophy. They might only have used it to get access to the place."

"True," Ammas said. "But do you want to take that chance?"

Denisius tilted his head. "What do you mean?"

"I only mean if there is a ritual wolf in this city, this champion of Saya they spoke of, then he will be somewhere secure. Somewhere central. Somewhere almost holy, I think." The key glittered in his fingers as he explored its little teeth, almost caressing it. "The Curia archives are burrowed deep into the hills. A fitting den for a wolf blessed by the white moon, don't you think?"

Silence descended on the warehouse.

"They were executioners," Carala murmured. "Executioners before they became werewolves."

Ammas nodded, his eyes meeting hers. "A seer-magistrate would insist on calling them assassins, but yes. And perhaps they see themselves as judges now, as well -- no one else capable of deciding who is fit to be blessed with their blood."

"But why me?" Carala cried. "I have done nothing, I do not know them, why would they send Tacen for me, why would they do this to me?"

"That is something we will have to find out," Ammas said softly. "The man Tacen spoke of, the man who knew all about the wolf's blood -- if he knows so much, and if he lairs with them in the Curia, then perhaps he knows the answer to that as well. If we can lay our hands on him." His eyes shone hungrily. Carala's cure was foremost on his mind and had been for some time, but he had not forgotten the duty with which Othma Sulivar had charged him, and there was no better place to mete out justice than the Grand Curia.

"But the Curia," Denisius said anxiously. "Ammas, the security there -- there are priests of the Graces and Tol Daether, and the bailiffs, and judicial guards. We should consult the Prefect, he is a good man, I'm sure he would help us, give us some of his men -- "

"We must not go to the Prefect," Ammas said firmly.

"Why?" Denisius demanded. "Ammas, I respect you, and this is terribly ingenious, but it would be mad to break into the Grand Curia without telling him. Swiftfoot or not, you'll be arrested!"

"We do have our helpful Prince Silenio to vouch for us," Barthim said reasonably. Silenio looked startled at this, apparently not having expected to be drafted as a character witness.

"Denisius," Ammas said hurriedly, "normally I would agree with you. We should notify the Prefect. I don't know him, but whether he's a good man or not he would have resources we could use. I would even be willing to stay back at the house and let you handle it. You're quite right. I would be arrested, even if Prince Silenio did vouch for me." Lightly he took Denisius by the arm and led him to the Swiftfoot ledgers, opening the last one to a page he had dogeared. "But look. When I saw this, I knew the situation was even more dire than we thought."

Denisius frowned and bent to the ledger. For a moment he didn't know what Ammas was talking about, but when he saw the names, only a few entries apart, he gasped aloud.

"What is it?" said Carala, alarmed.

"The Prefect's sons," he whispered. "They didn't die of fever."